Reading Made Easy for Foreigners - Third Reader eBook

As it is with the countenance, so it is with the character.
Character is the sum total of all our actions.
It is the result of the habitual use we have been
making of our intellect, heart and will. We are
always at work, like the weaver at the loom.
So we are always forming a character for ourselves.
It is a plain truth, that everybody grows up in a
certain character; some good, some bad, some excellent,
and some unendurable. Every character is formed
by habits. If a man is habitually proud, or
vain, or false, he forms for himself a character like
in kind.

The character shows itself outwardly, but it is wrought
within. Every habit is a chain of acts, and
every one of those acts was a free link of the will.
For instance, some people are habitually false.
We sometimes meet with men whose word we can never
take, and for this reason they have lost the perception
of truth and falsehood. They do not know when
they are speaking the truth and when they are speaking
falsely. They bring this state upon themselves.
But there was a time when these same men had never
told a lie.

A good character is to be more highly prized than
riches.

SELECTION XVI

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET

1. How dear to the heart are the scenes of my
childhood,
When fond recollection
presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled
wild-wood,
And every loved spot
which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the
mill which stood by it,
The bridge and the rock
where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house
nigh it,
And e’en the rude
bucket which hung in the well:
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound
bucket.
The moss-covered bucket, which hung
in the well.

2. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
For often, at noon,
when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite
pleasure,
The purest and sweetest
that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands
that were glowing,
And quick to the white-pebbled
bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth
overflowing,
And dripping with coolness,
it rose from the well:
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound
bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from
the well.

3. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive
it,
As poised on the curb
it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could
tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the
nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved
situation,
The tear of regret will
intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s
plantation,
And sighs for the bucket
which hangs in the well;
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound
bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hangs
in the well.